for once i feel like i have so much i want to write down, i have to actually hold some of it back so that i don’t overdo it. is overdo a word, or is it just over do? that’s not one of the things i wanted to talk about though.

last night i had started feeling cooped up so i went on a public transit outing to see gosford park and get some in-n-out. all in all, it ended up taking over six hours from leaving to returning to my apartment; this should attest to the efficiency of los angeles mass transit. what added to the inconvenience of the whole affair was the fact that, as i already told you, my watch is broken. since i have no replacement timepiece, this causes me great stress when trying to take busses to a theatre in time for a movie, for the main reason that i’m not able to know if and by how much time i am running late. and, as knowing how late i am is key in figuring out how worried i should be about getting there on time — which of course has a vital effect on the travel time in my semi-compulsive mind — not knowing adds the extra worry of not knowing how worried to be.

somehow by trying to read (just started naked lunch; terrific book) and otherwise not think about it, i managed to worry just the right amount and buy a ticket at 10:08 for a 10:15 showing (so says the ticket stub), and sit down, take off my hooded sweatshirt and kick back just as the lights dimmed. yes, i am considering doing this professionally.

the movie was not excessively funny, or excessively intriguing as far as mysteries go. but still, i really liked it. it seemed very professional, i think, as a film, and i appreciated that. and it was pretty clever even if there were fewer outright laughs than i might have expected. some might say though that the hardest laughs to get though are the internal, cerebral ones that don’t really evoke guffawing as much as an inner tip-of-the-hat. maybe i was cracking up on the inside. say what you will, i liked it all the same.

waiting at the bus stop on sunset after a tasty burger was exciting, because i got to watch people cruising for a good half hour at least. it wasn’t so awful i guess — waiting for busses in populated areas is kind of fun almost. it makes me feel like part of the city. leaning against a signpost, watching cars crawl by in a steady stop-go stream; it’s sort of calming. that was ruined though by sitting right behind mr. itchy once the bus came. mr. itchy was a bony black guy who must have been tripping on something, because aside from smelling strongly of feet, he could not stop scratching himself all over his body. hands in his shirt scratching his chest. scratching his bald head. pulling up his pantleg to scratch his legs. oh, and he was drooling too. then he took off his shoes and socks, scratched some more, and put them back on again. all of this was not as calming. mostly unsettling and malodorous, actually. i didn’t have the heart to just stand up and move to another seat for some reason either, so i just tried to read my book through tearing eyes until i could escape the stench 10 blocks later.